


Something Like Fire

by serenililly



Series: A Heart's Direction [2]
Category: K-pop, 방탄소년단 | Bangtan Boys | BTS
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Basketball Player Min Yoongi | Suga, F/M, Originally Posted on Tumblr, POV Female Character, POV Second Person, Reader-Insert, Smut, Unsafe Sex, Vaginal Fingering, Vaginal Sex, unprotected sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-15
Updated: 2019-03-15
Packaged: 2019-11-18 07:40:47
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 822
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18116324
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/serenililly/pseuds/serenililly
Summary: No sun could match the fire Min Yoongi ignited inside you, though you struggled with whether to stamp it out or let it burn.





	Something Like Fire

The next time you saw your best friend you were going to wring her scrawny fucking neck. She would be lucky if she could still hold a basketball after putting you in this terrible, awful situation.

Even though dawn was barely kissing the edge of the sky, she had promised to meet you at your college’s basketball courts for some early morning training and exercise thirty minutes ago. You had been pumped and ready to get to work, stretching to warm up in your sports bra and shorts. But those thirty minutes came and went and your angry text messages definitely made it clear that you were not pleased about her absence.

And of course, because fate liked to twist the knife in the cruelest ways, when the side door to the gym opened and you whirled to give her a piece of your mind you were met instead with the sleepy gaze of your greatest enemy and only weakness  —  one Min Yoongi.

Your body reacted as it always did when it came to him, fire spreading through your core to the tips of your fingers. Why was he here this early? And on a weekend? Why this court, where the women’s team usually practiced?

Yoongi had given you the cockiest, crooked smile full of gums and no good intent, as if he could scent the way your heart was doing flips inside your chest at the sight of him.

“What are you doing here all by your lonesome, beautiful?” he drawled in that low, lazy voice that stirred something deep within you, something you struggled to push back down to where it came from. You were going to kill her dead.

He sauntered over in that confident way of his, dropping his gym bag at the foot of the bleachers before coming closer to you. You watched every move closely, wishing you had the guts to just walk away.

You didn’t.

“I’ll practice with you, if you want,” he offered, like it was no big deal, undeterred by the narrow-eyed glare you were almost certainly giving him.

You hated him. Hated him with every atom of your entire being. Hated the way he walked, that over-confident swagger he strolled onto the courts with every game. The laid back way he spoke to his teammates and the way they looked at him like he could hang the fucking moon in the sky. Hated the casual conversations he struck up with you around campus, like you were the closest of friends. Hated the way he always found you at parties, choking off your expletives and stifling the fire raging inside you in ways only he could.

The men’s and women’s basketball teams at your college had kept up a healthy rivalry for decades. And as captain, you cherished every time you could shove a win in that jerk’s face. But Yoongi had never seemed phased, and to his credit, brought home just as many wins as you.

And where his mere presence turned you into a boiling mess, like a volcano forever ready to blow, he only ever reacted to your outbursts with mild amusement, a constant lake of calm waters, only ever rippling slightly in the breeze. He made your blood boil, made your body heat like a thousand suns compressed.

Which was exactly what he was doing right now as you sat on his lap in the backseat of his shitty car with his stupid fingers buried inside your shorts and curling deep into your wetness. You seethed at every pathetic whimper from your lips that echoed around the cramped space.

Yoongi only hummed in satisfaction, tongue and teeth fixed on your skin, toying with your ear and neck while the fingers of his other hand cupped your breast beneath your bra, making teasing circles around your nipple.

It was the soft murmur of your name in that low, rough voice that had you coming undone on his hand, grinding against the hardness pressed into your backside.

He had the nerve to suck on those fingers afterward, visibly sticky with your slick. And you let him. Let him tug off your shorts, fingers leaving hot streaks along your hips as he pulled your legs around his lap. You let him guide himself inside you, let him kiss your lips sloppily as he melted you from the inside.

“God, I could fuck this pussy all day,” he groaned around a mouthful of your breast, and you soaked in the desire in his voice as if it were another victory. Though he said it every time.

And when you were done, sticky and simmering, you let him walk you to your car. Let him press one last lazy kiss onto your lips. Your neck, again.

“Same time next week, beautiful?”

You hated him with every atom, this man that made your blood burn and sizzle in your veins. Hate, or something like it.

**Author's Note:**

> Inspired by the song "Radioactive" by Marina and the Diamonds.


End file.
